Gaara's Apocolypse
by Socially Suicidal
Summary: Gaara reflects his morbid existence, and the inevitable violent demise of everything he knows. He can only hope that she will not be a part of his Apocalypse. One-shot. Reformatted.


**Notice: **I have recently update the formatting of this fic in compliance with the anti-copyright rule here on FF .net. It is no longer a song-fic, rather a one-shot based on a song – similar to my three other one-shots based on lyrics: Breath and What's the Story Morning Glory?

The song is _My Apocalypse_by Escape the Fate.

Gaara's Apocalypse

By Socially Suicidal

**Disclaimer:** I do _not_ own Naruto or _My Apocalypse._

I know I will forever walk on the boarder of hell. My own hell. One my cruel mind creates.

Every time I am with her and he makes his presence in my mind known, I cannot help it. I cannot control my very own thoughts. They weaken me, the possibilities hurt in a pain so intense it is almost physical. She weakens me. She causes these painful thoughts.

What if… I was to fall unconscious. What if during battle I was to be knocked unconscious? What if my chakra was to be depleted after which I was rendered unconscious?

And yet worse… what if one day, in such a fit of rage, I was to let him out? What if he found a way out?

I remember the place I went to last time he took over.

It was so hazy, yet I could see where he had taken me. Hell, it had to be hell.

It burned with no flames, in a dull, never ending manner, as if he was stressing the fact that in my life, he was never going away, and he would indeed to anything in his power to lengthen that life. To be rid of him was like to be rid of one's heart, though I wished I could use a comparison that made me less uncomfortable. But to be rid of him, as to be rid of one's heart was to be rid of my very life. My life and the things I had worked and suffered so much to gain.

But there, in my hell, was a mockery of that. A mockery of what I had gained.

It was mockery of my village in flames, a mockery of my family with twisted expressions of demonic mischief, and a mockery of **her.** Her angelic face was twisted as she hung from a tree with hazy red leaves, a sandy noose around her fragile neck.

It was in this hell that I saw him. I saw the demon inside of me. The bloodthirsty monster that wants to take everything, one of the few things in particular, I have away for sadistic thrill.

He took, mocking me more, the form of a man. Some of the time when I looked at him, he had a, even more twisted than the original, resemblance of my father.

Knowing how right that seemed, he exploited it.

The demon gauged my reaction, my expression as I saw what he had set up for me in my mind as he raged havoc outside in my body. It was then he looked me square in the face, his slit yellow eyes boring into mine with such demonic malice if felt as if he was trying to rip my head off my shoulders with just the rage of his stare.

His voice made me tremble. The growling **noise** that emitted from his throat made me shudder violently.

He issued to me a warning.

He warned me about sleeping, he would escape and torture her, but he wouldn't kill her. He would find new ways to torture her, mentally, physically, emotionally; until she killed herself just to get away. Even worse, he wouldn't take on his own form. No, he would use my own body as the angel's guillotine. She would remember my twisted, demonic face as he possessed me while he tortured her when she went to heaven.

In effect, he warned me, that even in my consciousness, if I was to let down my guard amidst my comfort, it would mean death.

Not necessarily mine. His issues with sadistic thrill would prevent that. He would keep me alive to see them die. To see them suffer. To see all the people I felt were precious suffer and die, at my own hands.

When I am with her, he is watching. Taking her sweet innocence in and twisting it in my mind, showing me all the ways she was capable of destroying her innocence. Her drawing blood in battle… her drawing her **own **blood…

The ways he was capable of. How she would scream and beg for mercy but… never mind, the thought is simply too much to bare. The last time I entertained it I was sent into a spiral of anguish and despair for weeks despite even the efforts of my angel.

The ways he wanted to make me capable of, of which, if he ever got out again when she was there, he would definitely execute.

I never ask why. If it was just sadistic thrill, I did not want to know.

Any other reason, I did not want to know. I wanted all thoughts of that clear of me.

In effect, I, the great Kazekage of Village Hidden in the Sand Sunakagure, was hiding.

Hiding from the inevitable, ignoring it. I do not want to deal with it. I do not want to deal with my own execution, or my village's, or my family's, or the angel's.

Though I have told her more than once, I know she does not want to either. It was that, or she does not believe me.

I have always hoped not the latter. If she knew it was inevitable, at least it would not be so shocking to her when he ripped from my body, bloodthirsty and hungry.

I feel her arms slide around me, shaking me of my memories.

Her porcelain face, so easily broken, nudges my own. I blink dispassionately; my pessimistic thoughts had drained me of the emotion that was slowly flowing back. Pressing my nose into her neck, I deeply inhale the scent that is her.

I feel the softest of lips curve against the skin of my face and she nuzzles her way onto my lap pushing my chair out, my already ignored work papers left abandoned on my desk. Carefully placing my own arms around her waist and back I close my eyes.

I allow myself that sinful moment of pretending that we can stay like this forever. Her shifting disturbs my blissful instant as she withdraws and stares at me questioningly... she always knows. I sigh and direct my gaze at the wall behind her.

"Gaara…" she murmurs, I can hear the frown forming her words unhappily. "Look at me, amai."

I scoff at the word meaning sweet that is supposed to refer to myself and refuse to comply.

Her small hands cup my face and she forces my gaze onto her own. Her face is determined, her lips set into a line and her eyebrows furrowed. As she tilts my chin up she leans down and places her lips on my own.

"You are amai," she mumbles before adding pressure on her lips against mine.

I grunt in disagreement but do not allow her to withdraw again as she makes her attempt to. She sighs at my stubbornness. We stay in this position, her lips moving against mine and mine following her pattern, until the need for oxygen causes her to withdraw, and this time I allow it.

Her deep eyes search mine for a second and when she seems to find what she is looking for she smiles contently. She is happy that she seemingly fixed what had been bothering me. I do not have the heart to correct her and tell her that she can only soothe the pain, never fix it…

Despite her valiant efforts otherwise.

She always whispers for me not to believe his lies. She tells me that everything he said about me was a lie...that every time he tells me I am the essence of the death and destruction of those of innocence around me he is lying. She tells me every time he tells me I am evil and wrong and a monster, he is lying.

Her resolve for me is to just continue enjoying my life, knowing he was dangerous and keeping him in my mind, and not in my soul. It is to ignore everything I could about him- which wasn't much. I know I can never ignore his presence, but she believes I am good enough to ignore his demonic influence. And, sometimes, for a vague moment, I believe that I can- only if she is with me.

That was why he wants to destroy her. She is the answer to my problems, and the destruction of his plans.

Virtually, all I have to do was never fall asleep, never let my guard down, and she would never be harmed.

Virtually, it could never be that simple, although I wish it could.

I will always have him inside me. His never ending whispers, shouts, and growls on demonic destruction will always follow me. He is my shadow, dark and lurking inside me. She was the trickling light around the shadow, why she was there, I will never question, in fear of it driving her away.

Never would I question my only means of salvation.

I walk in my shadows, behind my walls that protect me before they crumbled on top of all I knew and held dear. Beyond those walls the flames licked and there was the never ending desert that was the symbol of my very own hell. The dark, red sun just on the horizon lit the dunes crimson and the beige sky was littered with dark clouds not natural of the desert I called my home.

Ducking and dodging the flames was how I live my life- every day, every night, and every second of it.

I spend my life trying to prevent the inevitable. When I am not trying to prevent it, I am trying to prolong it's happening. Only at the end of my existence will I be doing neither.

_\_When I allow my thoughts to consume me, everything seems so distant. Everything is just there, and I simply watch from a distant out of cold, emotionless eyes. Everything is in a state of grey in which I have no contact with or connection to.

This is when I feel as if the flames are going to rise up and consume me whole.

When I become so dispassionate and distant, I know she worries. I know they all worry. Every single time, she ignores her own needs and puts mine before everything. She comforts me, caters to me, spends every second possible with me.

She is destined to be the perfect angel she was. Destined to love and be kind and brave, compassionate and determined… I am destined to be a demon. Destined to kill, destroy, and cause heartbreak and tragedy.

Looking at her when she's trying to comfort me _hurts_. Looking at her when I am forced ignore her while she's trying to comfort me is _worse_. But even worse… is looking at her when she _keeps_ trying to comfort me despite that.

A part of whatever is left of me dies.

This knowing of my demise burned. It burned with the intensity of flames. These flames were the knowing of one's own death, one's own destruction… the knowing that it would come from one's own self.

Those flames were of hell, my hell, my apocalypse.

She caused this reminder of my hell. Despite that, I needed her presence to soothe me of it. I needed her contact to be comforted that, at least in this lifetime, I would have her. I would have her, my angel, to make the time I had in my life memorable as I burned in my hell.

All I had to do was hope, letting her comfort me. All I had to do was hope that when I went to hell, my Sakura wouldn't be included in My Apocalypse.

_**Go forth and Review.**_


End file.
